


happenstance

by lovages



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Drunk Texting, Emotional Infidelity, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Crowley/Dean Winchester, Minor Daphne Allen/Castiel, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:04:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9133264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovages/pseuds/lovages
Summary: Castiel’s phone beeps from the nightstand. There’s no one he knows who would text him at this hour… unless it was an emergency. Or maybe it’s Daphne. Castiel grabs his phone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Super nervous posting this (since I'm over a year late and you're supposed to come up with something in a week? Ahaha deadlines and me don't get along). Anyway! I took this prompt by [Unforth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth) from her Writing Prompt Wednesdays and ran with it. 
> 
> _I keep getting texts from you, and you keep refusing to believe that I have no idea who you are, because apparently I’m entered in your phone as your brother/sister/parents/friend/whoever and you are utterly convinced I’m just that person trying to prank you_
> 
> More about the prompts [here](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/post/134425254818/writing-prompt-wednesday-stories-about-texting)
> 
> Also, please don't turn off/hide Creator's style, because the formatting was my attempt to fulfill the challenge with a little ~creativity. Also, if you turn off the Creator's style, it will be _very_ hard to read! Sorry, it's just something I really wanted to try and I'm so excited about. (Work Skin CSS credit: [CodenameCarrot, La_Temperanza](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845/chapters/14729722))

It’s 11:37 PM when Castiel decides to call it a night.

  
He sets down the book he’s reading – _The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat_ , a present from his brother Gabriel – and turns off the bedside lamp. It’s no secret that Gabriel is not very fond of Daphne, so Castiel suspects Gabriel bought it because he found the title amusing and fitting. Despite that, it’s an interesting read.

  
Castiel breathes slowly, stares at the darkened ceiling, and wonders what it would be like to slowly forget things and never recover. Now that he’s not focused on something, he hears the quiet sounds around the house. The gentle background hum of the dishwasher. Daphne in the living room, watching the news with the volume on low– speaking of Daphne, Castiel’s mind wanders.

  
He doesn’t remember meeting her. She says she found him on the banks of the university lagoon one hot June afternoon. He remembers going out for a run that day, but he doesn’t remember slipping and cracking his head against the paved pathway that wound around the water.

  
Castiel knows from the countless times the story’s been retold to friends and family that he came to at the hospital, but Castiel doesn’t remember it himself. Outside, the TV goes silent. He holds his breath as he hears Daphne’s footsteps. They stop just outside the door. There’s a brief moment of trepidation, but then she leaves. Castiel sighs. He’s ashamed to admit he’s relieved she’ll be sleeping in what is now her own room. 

It’s strange that he doesn’t remember meeting his girlfriend, right? 

It’s probably stranger that they live together but don’t share a bed. 

Castiel’s phone beeps from the nightstand. 

There’s no one he knows who would text him at this hour… unless it was an emergency. Or maybe it’s Daphne. Castiel grabs his phone. 

(312) 320-0118  
  
aloha cowboy ;)  
  
  
  


Castiel stares. It’s not a number stored in his contacts, and it’s not a number he recognizes.

That’s… a very attractive young man. About a decade too young for him. It must be an old picture, he thinks, because the haircut and the necklace date it. Very attractive, though. His gaze lingers at the nipple before being led down by the arm to the crotch. His face grows warm, and he realizes he’s actually licking his lips. 

Castiel shakes himself. This is a stranger who likely didn’t intend for him to receive this picture. He should delete it. He should let this guy know he texted the wrong number. 

Embarrassment scalds through Castiel when he realizes he’s pretty much half hard, and he drops the phone on the nightstand before turning away. It doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself. Arousal isn’t a bad thing in and of itself. It’s totally natural. It happens to everyone. Besides, it’s not like he sought this out or initiated it. More importantly, he’s not going to do anything about it. Other than curl up on himself and forget about it, of course. 

It’s best to follow the path of least resistance, Castiel decides. If he ignores it, nothing will come of it, and in the morning he can delete the entire thread and that’ll be the end of it.

  


“Ooh, who’s the twink?” 

Castiel squawks as Charlie snatches the phone right out of his hands. It’s his fault for not deleting the damn picture, and he certainly shouldn’t have been looking at it at work. Even if it was his lunch break and he was sitting in the cafeteria. Maybe especially then. 

“Charlie, give it back, please.”

“Oh my god, Cas, why haven’t you replied?” she asks, sitting down in the chair beside his. She steals one of his fries and starts typing out a text.

“Please don’t,” he says wearily, even though he knows there’s little he can say to deter her at this point.

To his surprise, Charlie stops and looks at him. “You’re not interested?” she asks, tapping at his phone. “This came in last night.” 

Castiel hesitates. It’s not that he’s not interested, exactly. It’s a strange situation. Certainly not one he’s ever been in before. Then again, he is in a relationship. The problem is that he is interested. At least, his dick is. 

“No,” he decides. “It’s a stranger, and it was clearly an accident.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “It’s just a sext, Cas. Well. Sorta.”

“Okay, I still don’t really want to be…” he trails off awkwardly. Is it a verb– can he say ‘sexting’– does he even want to? These are the questions that make Castiel hold his peace. 

“Well, don’t leave the poor guy hanging,” Charlie says, stealing a few more fries. 

Castiel takes his phone back, tugging for a moment before Charlie relents and lets go. He backs out of the message so he’s not staring at the picture anymore and eyes the number for a few moments. He really doesn’t recognize it. And he definitely doesn’t recognize the face.

“What should I say?” he asks.

Charlie shrugs, looking a little peeved. “That you’re not interested?” 

Castiel thinks for a moment and sends: 

(312) 320-0118  
  
aloha cowboy ;)  
  
  
  
You have the wrong number.  
  


They wait expectantly for a few moments but there’s no reply. Castiel finds that he’s actually a little disappointed. Well, he laid that little mystery to rest. No point dwelling on it. Charlie engages him in conversation about work, and invites him to an evening of board games, and Castiel lets himself be distracted.

When he gets back to his office, he checks his phone out of habit before putting it away, and finds that his mystery texter has responded with one word. 

hilarious  
  


Castiel frowns and sends

I honestly don't know you.  
  


Again, he’s treated to a few moments of silence, so Castiel decides to ignore it and get back to work. His phone starts to vibrate, and instead of answering, Castiel decides to turn it off and shove it in a drawer.

As curious as he is, there is time-sensitive work that needs to get done before the end of the day. Sandover is quite strict about its employee quotas and even if they weren’t, Castiel’s boss, Zachariah is quite demanding. 

It’s tedious working in Accounting, but Castiel prefers it to IT. Zachariah may be tough and a little unjust sometimes, but he’s a far cry from the guy who heads IT. Dick Roman easily takes the crown for the worst boss. Castiel has no idea how Charlie is able to work under someone like him. Unlikeable superiors notwithstanding, Castiel works hard because it’s part of the plan. Work hard, provide for Daphne, build a home and life with her. It’s been a while since Castiel was actually sure he wants this life, but he keeps at it because he doesn’t really know any other way to be.

By the time Castiel is ready to leave for the day, he’s worked eleven hours. He turns his phone on as he walks to his car, squinting as it starts to light up with notifications.

wtf crowley  
  
fine be an asshole just delete the picture  
  
ur such a dick im gonna kick ur ass if it gets out  
  


Castiel sighs, feeling a headache come on. Daphne’s left him a voicemail, asking if he can pick up some groceries on the way home. Castiel absently texts her in the affirmative and then stares at the other texts. Whoever this is, clearly never intended to send that picture. And they’re quite upset about it. Castiel decides it’s common courtesy to clear up the misunderstanding and put their fears to rest. That’s it. And then he’s done.

I’m not Crowley, and neither do I know anyone of that name.   
  
I have deleted the picture.   
  


He gets a text back almost immediately.

suuure whatever u say  
  


Castiel rolls his eyes and pockets his phone.  
  


  


The weeks pass and Castiel doesn’t really get anymore illicit pictures or snarky text messages. 

He doesn’t really think of it. Much. Sometimes he does. He doesn’t have the picture anymore, but he remembers the brief flash of arousal. The instantaneous attraction. He knows there’s not much point thinking about this stranger who provoked such a reaction. He doesn’t intend to pursue a relationship with anyone else while he’s with Daphne. They may be little better than roommates, but they have an established relationship. Commitments to each other. A joint account for god’s sake.

No, thinking about the picture does no good. In fact, all it does is throw into relief the growing disparities between Castiel and Daphne. He doesn’t love her, and he’s known that for a while. And now he questions if he finds her attractive. If he ever did. If there’s something about her that captivates him. Maybe it’s something he’s forgotten because he’s used to it. Maybe he just needs to see it again in a new light. 

Life with Daphne is painstakingly nice. They eat dinner together, make small talk about their day, and sort out bills and chores. Then Castiel runs out of things to say. He kisses Daphne’s cheek and all but flees to his room to read before bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

He thinks about leaving her, sometimes. Really thinks about it. He stands in the bathroom after he showers, and stares at his reflection in the fogged up mirror, and practices the lines under his breath.

“I think it would be for the best if we…” Castiel lets the words hang. How is breaking up for the best? How is telling Daphne he doesn’t love her for the best? Especially when the truth is that he probably never loved her. 

Okay, do over. 

“What if we chose, for ourselves,” he starts, then clucks his tongue impatiently. “No, that’s stupid.” 

Castiel sighs, and gives it one more try. “Do you ever wonder–” 

A knock on the bathroom door shuts him up, and Castiel loses the resolve to change anything for another day. 

It’s a Friday night when things get interesting again. Castiel’s nearing the end of _The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat_ when his phone beeps. And doesn’t stop. It just goes on lighting up in rapid succession. Castiel picks it up and watches the texts flood in. 

312-320-0118  
  
i think u were onto something  
  
when we were u know  
  
whatever  
  
when u said that stuff  
  
no one hates me as much as i hate myself ?  
  
u were right   
  
dont let it get to ur head  
  
idk why im telling u this of all people  
  
but man i fucked up  
  


Castiel chews his lip for a moment, but concern gets the better of him.

What happened?   
  


It doesn’t take long for a reply.

not gonna pretend u dont know me?  
  
I don’t know you, actually.  
  
right  
  
anyway  
  
what r u up to  
  
I’m reading a book.  
  
yeah? about what?  
  
Mental and neurological illnesses.  
  
like cuckoo’s nest?  
  


Castiel catches himself smiling and hesitates, relaxing against the pillows. It’d be nice to talk about something that’s not work with someone who’s not Gabriel. It’s a little unfair to Daphne, who’s just beyond the door, and who is likely willing to talk to him about his book, but things between them are… strange. Listless. Strained. He’s run out of things to say to her. Of ways to talk to her. 

Not exactly.  
  
what’s it called?   
  
The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat by Oliver Sacks  
  
sounds weird  
  
wait   
  
didnt he write musicophilia  
  
that was pretty cool  
  
i mean, when i flipped through it once at the dentists  
  
Yes, actually. I haven’t read Musicophilia yet.  
  
It’s next on my list.   
  
yeah not just a pretty face  
  
i read   
  
I didn’t doubt that.  
  


With a little encouraging, Castiel narrates one of the case studies. The glass of wine he’d been nursing mellows him out a little, and Castiel ends up having a pleasant, long conversation well past the time he normally goes to bed. Talking to his mystery texter is refreshing. Fun. Maybe because he’s a stranger, and Castiel doesn’t feel the need to… be. 

so this is weird right?  
  
Talking?  
  
The picture was stranger.  
  


For the first time this evening, the texts don’t come back right away. When they do it’s clear that the good mood has dissipated.

i was drunk  
  
it was a mistake  
  
we shouldn’t be talking  
  
we don’t talk  
  


Castiel tries to stop himself, but he feels like he’s come this far, so why not? The wine pools warm and low in his belly, and maybe it plays a part in his nosiness. He asks,

Did Crowley break your heart?  
  


This time the response is swift, and it comes in a torrent of disbelief. 

lol no wtf i dont remember u being this weird  
  
man no   
  
i was messed up  
  
off the res   
  
n u just made it worse  
  
it was never really a thing  
  
just two people in a shitty place making shitty decisions  
  


There’s a pause and Castiel tries to think of a way to respond. He’s debating between asking if this virtual stranger is back ‘on the res’, or asking for an elaboration when a few more texts chime in. 

is it cuz u get it  
  
in a weird way?  
  
u did that dumb stuff n it made me do it too  
  
cuz its the only way we know  
  
right?  
  


It’s easy enough to piece together from what’s been said. Crowley was one half of a bad relationship that Castiel’s mystery texter regrets, full of bad ‘decisions.’ Even though it’s clearly none of his business, Castiel is intrigued because he has never personally been in such a situation. It’s more than that, though. When his new anonymous acquaintance isn’t belligerent and sarcastic, he’s nice to talk to. The belligerence is easy to ignore too, probably because it’s obviously directed towards this Crowley person. 

For this man’s sake, Castiel wishes he had the answer for the questions. From the sound of it, the relationship was unhappy and short-lived to say the least. Possibly unhealthy as well, but Castiel doesn’t know enough to really say. 

I wouldn’t know.  
  
mhm cuz ur not crowley right  
  
No, I’m not.  
  
whatever ur angle is   
  
i dont give a shit, ok?  
  
its not gonna work  
  


Apparently, there’s just no convincing this man that he’s not Crowley either, so Castiel changes the subject.

What did you mean earlier?   
  
what? when?   
  
In the beginning. About fucking up.  
  
oh  
  
just dumb shit w sam  
  
Sam?  
  
my brother u asshat  
  
moose?  
  
come on u can drop the act or r u wasted again?   
  
No, I’ve only had a glass of wine.  
  
I’m sure you’ll make up with Sam.  
  
Siblings fight all the time.   
  
stuff with sam  
  
it’s been broken for a while  
  
used to think he looked up to me   
  
now i know im just annoying shithead brother  
  


Castiel frowns, troubled by how self-deprecating his mystery texter sounds now.

Why do you think that?   
  
because i am  
  
i did what i was told  
  
never questioned it cuz im a dumbass   
  
sams the smart one, not me.  
  
he always knew what he wanted   
  
I don't see how you can believe that about yourself.  
  
There’s nothing wrong with following orders.  
  
course u would think that  
  
It takes strength and discipline to put aside what you want and do what you must.  
  
Why didn’t you disobey more often?   
  
didn’t have the balls i guess  
  
besides someone had to keep the peace   
  
It sounds like Sam got to disobey because you didn’t.  
  
that’s one way of putting it  
  


By the time Castiel finishes typing out the long-winded message, he’s not sure he should send it. What is he doing here? Accidentally impersonating someone and getting involved in a stranger’s personal affairs. Nothing good can come of this. Especially if it comes back to bite him in the ass, and Castiel knows that these things have a way of doing that. Besides, it’s not his place to offer advice like this. All he knows about this stranger is how he looked a decade ago in an embarrassing photograph, and about an hour’s worth of text messages. 

Still, Castiel throws caution to the wind and taps send. Worst case scenario, the mystery texter loses his temper and decides to stop talking to him. Or maybe, since Castiel is supposed to want that, it’s the best case scenario?

Look, I don’t know you, but going off this conversation alone, I can say without a shred of doubt that you are not a ‘dumbass’. You’re well-read, intelligent, and funny. You’re a skeptic, but you care a lot about your brother, and you worried enough to come talk about it to someone you clearly loathe. Whatever issues you have with Sam, I’m sure he knows just how much you care, and how much you’ve sacrificed for him. It will work out if you try communicate with him.   
  
wow well i dunno what to say  
  
didn’t know u had it in u   
  
kinda seemed like u were 2 mins away from killing me usually  
  
or u know, the other thing   
  


Castiel feels a weird pang when he reads that. The other thing… meaning sex? He chews his lip, debating texting back, but he can see that the guy’s not done, so he waits. 

this is so weird   
  
thanks i guess  
  
You’re welcome. ☺️  
  
did u just  
  
u sent me an emoji  
  
Yes.  
  
i didn't know u knew they existed  
  
u usually just call  
  
I like texting. And emoticons.   
  
srsly wtf crowley  
  
did u have a stroke????  
  


Castiel doesn't know why he bothers insisting anymore, since the guy consistently refuses to believe he has the wrong number. Still, he tries again. Now that they've been talking for little over an hour, it feels deceptive to let the guy continue thinking he's talking to someone else without at least trying to correct the misunderstanding. 

I’m not Crowley.   
  
ugh whatever   
  
say hi to julie for me  
  
I don’t know a Julie.  
  
r u srsly gonna pretend u dont know ur crazy mutt????  
  
whatever gnight  
  
Goodnight.  
  


Despite being slightly miffed at the abrupt end to the conversation, Castiel sets the phone down on the nightstand and turns the lights off. It’s far too late to be up. He briefly wonders if Daphne saw the light under the door, and decided not to interrupt anyway. Then he’s right back to thinking about his mystery texter. 

He thinks back to the picture, to the warm, smooth lines of the man’s torso, to the big green eyes, to the soft, beautiful mouth… to the strong jaw. God, he was gorgeous. He finds himself smiling fondly as he thinks of their conversation, of the way he’d laughed at some of the exchanges, of how much he’d genuinely relaxed and enjoyed himself. 

Castiel is already warm and drowsy from the wine, so it doesn’t take a lot to knock him out. He has saccharine dreams about a beautiful man who kisses him until they melt together. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

(312) 320-0118  
  
so i guess ur not u  
  
i mean ur not crowley   
  
ur a dick but ur not that good an actor   
  
i mean crowley isnt   
  
so i guess im sorry   
  
i won’t bother u anymore 

Four days later, Castiel is finishing breakfast in front of the TV when his phone goes off. The texts come in rapid fire, and Castiel doesn’t have to look to know exactly who’s texting him. No one else texts him like that.

Daphne raises her eyebrow. “Is that work?”

“No, it’s Charlie,” Castiel lies, before he can think of something better. He gets to his feet. “She’s been having some… relationship trouble.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Daphne laments, stepping in his way and taking his plate. “I really liked Dorothy. They made a cute couple. I hope they can work it out. Oh, can you zip me up?”

“Of course.” Castiel waits for her to turn away from him and zips up the back of her dress. Her skin is pale and smooth beneath the grey dress, and a black bra strap cuts a sharp line beneath her shoulder blades. He’s done this for her before, of course, but it occurs to him that he’s never undressed her. He’s never seen her naked. He can’t remember if they ever even took their tops off in front of each other. He can’t remember if he ever even wanted to.

Daphne is beautiful in a fairly conventional sort of way, but Castiel can’t remember being attracted to her. Now that she’s got her back turned, he wonders what color her eyes are. What the shape of her mouth is. (Not a well-shaped kissable bow. Or maybe it is, but he never noticed.) And then he kicks himself mentally for not knowing. It just never seemed to matter that much. He didn’t miss her when she was gone.

“Thanks,” Daphne smiles sweetly, kissing his cheek. “Have a nice day at work.”

It feels almost maternal. Castiel nods stiffly and murmurs something similar back. He checks his phone as he walks out the door, and smiles, all Daphne-related concerns forgotten. He responds as he walks to his car.

You don’t bother me. What convinced you?  
  
met crowley yesterday  
  
he was his usual dickish self  
  
realized he’d never u know   
  
actually talk to me like you did  
  
plus he had no idea what i was talking about when i brought it up  
  
I’m glad you believe me now. I wonder what caused the miscommunication. I have never changed phone numbers.  
  
i bet my friend got into my phone and messed up the number so i wouldn't do something dumb  
  
since i don't remember sending the picture i guess she had the right idea but she can never know  
  
it would’ve been a lot worse if crowley got his hands on that   
  
Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.  
  
lol thanks man  
  
so what do i call u  
  
uve seen me naked its only fair

Castiel gets in his car, and debates it for a second before he decides to attempt to flirt back. It doesn't really mean anything. It's just a little harmless fun. And considering all the times he's been accused of being uptight and boring, Castiel figures he could stand to have a little fun.

Half naked  
  
The jeans left a lot to the imagination. And honestly, the cowboy hat was in the way.  
  
pervert  
  
now im not so sure u deleted it  
  
I promise I did. I was "messing with you."  
  
yea i got that lol  
  
i mean i guess i don’t mind terribly if u kept it  
  
i was an idiot so its already out there forever   
  
just gotta know what to look for

Castiel hesitates, but decides that he ought to reciprocate the trust he’s been shown. He’s not so sure he’d believe a stranger so readily if their situations were reversed. He sends off the text, promising himself it’s gonna be the last one. He really does have to get to work.

Castiel  
  
???  
  
did u butt text me?

So much for it being the last one. Castiel huffs, rolling his eyes.

That’s my name.   
  
oh  
  
huh

Castiel bites his lip, waiting. The seconds tick by, and for the first time he feels frazzled about the time. He doesn't normally deviate from his schedule much. And it seems so silly to be wasting his time over this. Texts to someone he was never supposed to know. And yet he does. He knows a lot more about this stranger than he does about Daphne.

And on the other hand, he knows virtually nothing... but he wants to know more. He gave a piece of himself, and he finds himself wanting something in return.

And you are…?

He doesn't have to wait too long.

dean  
  
It’s been nice talking to you, Dean. I have to go. Duty calls.

Castiel quickly programs the number into his phone as a contact, even as he questions the decision. Does he really want to save the contact information of someone he doesn’t really know? Someone who accidentally texted him. Apparently, yes. He does.

  


 

Dean  
  
mornin stranger

Castiel smiles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a content sigh. He never expected to hear from Dean again after the misunderstanding had been cleared up, but somehow, they kept talking. The weeks pass by with aimless conversation, and if more than a few hours pass in silence, Castiel misses his phone like a phantom limb.

And now, it’s commonplace for him to wake up to a text from Dean. He taps out a reply, then dozes for a couple seconds while he waits.

He’s never been much of a texter, having always preferred calls. He only texts when he’s feeling particularly anti-social. So, for instance, he primarily communicates with Gabriel via text. The issue is that he wants to talk to Dean, and for the first time, texting is the only option that makes sense.

They’re strangers to each other. This is a fact. Castiel can honestly say he doesn’t know any friends or acquaintances named Dean. He’s fairly sure no one in his tiny social circle knows a Dean. And, they’re testing the waters now, in a totally stress-free way. Castiel doesn’t have to worry about whether he’s coming across as too socially awkward, and in a way he’s more uninhibited. He makes jokes he wouldn’t in person, for one. He also smiles and laughs more than he would in person. He’s not stressed about making a good impression. It’s freeing.

And there’s also the fact that Dean is unlike anyone else Castiel knows. His texts are disjointed and frenetic, a straight tap to his stream of consciousness. Castiel suspects that he has a very minimally applied filter, if it even exists. There’s something here between them, a mischievous chemistry he never had with Daphne. It’s the stuff of movies and books, and Castiel feels like he can read between the lines and see the smirk on Dean’s lips. Hear the low chuckle he imagines is Dean’s, or feel the palpable excitement. In return, sometimes Dean appears to know exactly what is on Castiel’s mind, and connect the dots, firing sharp over Castiel’s synapses to meet him there.

Somehow it works even though they’re so different. Where Castiel is restrained and methodical, Dean is a colorful riot of passions and widely ranging interests. It’s gotten to the point where just hearing from him tends to turn Castiel into a smiling goof.

A little after Castiel settles down at his desk this morning, his phone chimes with a text. 

so sams refusing to go to the new star wars with me

Castiel knows by now that the truth will scandalize Dean.

I’m afraid I haven't watched any of them.  
  
?????  
  
??????????   
  
Do you like cats?  
  
now is not the time cas  
  
im still processing   
  
how have u gone ur entire life without watching star wars  
  
who did this to you???  
  
wait you're not 12 are you

Castiel stares at his phone, amused but uncertain. He doesn’t know how to explain that he just sort of missed it? There’s no real reason behind why he hasn’t watched the movies beyond the fact that he simply isn’t inclined to consume much television. Or movies, for that matter. It didn’t help that he was raised in a very strict, religious household. But he’d much rather not talk about that if he doesn’t have to.

No. I'm 32.  
  
I haven't watched Harry Potter, either. I finished reading the books recently, though.  
  
not like you're missing out there.  
  
what about star trek?  
  
got? lotr?  
  
Are you quite sure you aren't "butt texting" me?  
  
shut up im not. if you'd watched or read them you'd know  
  
but how?   
  
why??  
  
cas we gotta fix this  
  
we are marathoning all those movies one of these days   
  
quit wasting time reading the hat book, this stuff is important  
  
What stuff? Popular sci-fi movies?  
  
yes! it's not just sci fi movies, man. this is like. generational stuff. tv, movies, books, music, pop culture.  
  
do u even know who robert plant is?  
  
Of course I do. That’s your close friend, the potted fern in your office.  
  
omg u come to my house and  
  
i just realized ur not gonna get that reference  
  
i cant  
  
i cant talk to u rn  
  
srsly we have to fix this   
  
im gonna send u links, u got a lotta homework ok?  
  
Rolling eyes emoticon.  
  
u dork u have to use the emoji u can't just  
  
forget it  
  
also im allergic to cats  
  
That’s tragic.  
  
shut up  
  
you’ve never seen star wars  
  
ur tragic  
  
cats are alright tho  
  
u thinking of getting one?  
  
Possibly. I want to make certain changes in my life. I think a cat would make a good companion.

Castiel is not sure why he doesn’t tell Dean about Daphne. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but he doesn’t even want to bring up the fact that she exists. That he has a girlfriend he doesn’t love (probably never has), let alone that he wants to break up with her. Dean would probably have decent advice on the topic, given that he’s had at least one unwanted relationship that Castiel knows about. Still, Castiel can’t bring himself to do it.

This whole thing between him and Dean is indescribable. It should be nonexistent, and yet it exists. Is it cheating if it’s an emotional, intellectual bond with someone he’s never met in person? Is it cheating if it’s just conversation that isn’t romantic? (Dean flirts sometimes but Castiel suspects that it’s not serious, or with any intent to pursue something romantic or sexual. It’s just a part of Dean’s personality, and Castiel knows by now that he thinks it’s funny.)

Castiel knows the answer to those questions but he carefully avoids it for weighing another thought. If he can feel so much for a stranger he’s traded texts with for a few hours, then he never really had much of a romantic relationship with Daphne. She’s a wonderful human being, and he likes her very much, but he’s never loved her.

More importantly, he should be working, but he lacks the drive. He doesn't think he's ever felt so restless and distracted before. Even on days when he has to survive without caffeine, he can put his nose to the grindstone and carry on. His work may not be particularly thrilling, but he derives satisfaction from putting in effort and seeing the results of a job well done. For the past few weeks, however, he has been lacking in his usual laser-like focus. Instead, his attention is drawn to his phone. And Dean. Case in point. His phone buzzes with a response, and he lets his computer idle as he reads Dean's text.

The old Castiel would've ignored the phone.

i guess our movie marathons gonna be at my place   
  
i was gonna bring the popcorn but that's ur job now   
  
unless u wanna stock up on allergy meds for me. 

Despite the depressing train of thought on his mind, Castiel smiles. Seeing Dean talk so casually about meeting him sends a warm, fuzzy curl of happiness through him. He has wanted to meet Dean for some time now, but had no idea how to ask or suggest it. To know that Dean has not only felt that way, but also felt comfortable enough to make plans… it feels good. And it emboldens Castiel to reciprocate.

I can keep allergy medication on hand for you. If I was truly being considerate, I’d try to adopt a Russian blue. Most people who are allergic to cats are allergic (aside from the dander), to the glycoproteins produced in the cat’s saliva. Russian blues don’t produce much, and have a thick double coat that would keep the glycoprotein trapped close to the cat’s skin. You’d still possibly have an allergic reaction but it would be mild, and possibly completely suppressed with allergy medication.   
  
nerd  
  
i mean sure yea fine get a cat  
  
we’ll still marathon movies  
  
but you’re a nerd

Castiel huffs but he's finally forced to put his phone away just as Zachariah walks past his office. He breathes a sigh of relief because he’d managed to look up just in time to spot Zachariah across the floor, and had been able to sneak his phone back into his pocket. He resolves to work studiously for an hour, but he itches to respond. He doesn’t want Dean to think he’s ignoring him. But when he pulls his phone out, Dean’s sent him another picture.

anyway so this is a real thing now  
  
[](https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/jkndlnk1j99se06/Cronookie.jpg)  
  
a cronut? cronookie?  
  
heh nookie

Castiel catches himself smiling again.

Looks delicious. I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work, Dean. I’ll catch up with you in the evening.   
  
sure no problem   
  
give em hell cas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short, but groundwork etc. Happy New Year!  
> (hmu [@lovages](//www.lovages.tumblr.com))


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner is soft fluffy naans and a hot lentil daal from _Shree_ , the Indian restaurant near Daphne’s work. Castiel slips his phone out and glances at it under the table. No new texts.

“Is that Charlie again?” Daphne asks, and Castiel nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Sorry. Just work,” he lies.

Daphne murmurs a sympathetic platitude.

“Things have been a little hectic.”

“I understand,” Daphne smiles sweetly without a shred of doubt. “By the way, I made ginger snaps. Maybe you can take some for the office.”

“My favorite,” he says. “You remembered.”

“How could I forget?” She clears the dishes away, and Castiel all but flees to his room.

He feels sick for lying to her. He hates himself for not having the stones to do the right thing. The problem is, he's not sure that this… thing with Dean is even real. But even if it wasn't, he knows things are not working with Daphne. On the other hand, if it were simply about the uncertainty (and not something he actively wanted), he’d come right out and tell her. At worst, she wouldn’t think it was funny. Basically, there's no excuse to not come clean, except the obvious.

He's afraid he wants more, and he's afraid to openly pursue it.

It's like he's at a precipice, in the moment before he falls. Before things change.

His conversations with Dean have trickled to a stop over the past week or so. Castiel thumbs through their old exchanges and smiles fondly at the past. 

not too much of a drive between us

Castiel studiously doesn’t comment on the fact. Already, he's thinking about serendipitous meetings in grocery stores and coffee shops. He starts being more aware of his surroundings, just in case he runs into someone he might recognize.

That would be ideal. Then it’s not premeditated. It’s not an active decision or choice made by him. He’s a passive pawn in the machinations of the universe. He's not a liar. Or a cheater. A coward.

He catches himself mid-daydream and stops. For the hundredth time he tells himself - he doesn’t really know Dean, and Dean doesn’t really know him. What if it really is just complacency and boredom? Maybe he’s just so set in his ways so he doesn’t know just how much he cares for Daphne. Maybe he’s confusing boredom for unhappiness.

After all, everyone in Castiel’s life knows about Daphne. Their nuptials are a matter of when, not if.

The room feels too small.

It’s late, but Castiel can’t just sit here, hiding in his room. He needs– 

Dean  
  
Are you awake?

For a few disheartening minutes, there’s no response. Castiel beats himself up for getting his hopes up. For building castles in the sky. For imagining things.

yup what’s up

Castiel loses his nerve. He sets the phone down on the nightstand and turns away. He shouldn't reply. But it buzzes a few seconds later, and then again, and he’s drawn to it inexorably.

cas?  
  
buddy u ok??  
  
I’m fine. Can’t sleep.   
  
so what is this, a booty call?

Castiel squirms uncomfortably. He knows it’s more than likely that Dean is trying to cheer him up. The incessant flirting isn’t anything serious. Or real. But it hits too close to home right now. Castiel decides he’ll just lie about having fallen asleep the next time they talk. He doesn’t feel like continuing the conversation much anymore.

im kidding btw  
  
cant sleep either  
  
talk to me 

Where to start? Is it even appropriate to tell a virtual stranger that he has feelings for him? Does it even make sense? Castiel chickens out.

Do you have a favorite cookie?  
  
peanut butter chocolate chip  
  
you?  
  
Ginger snaps.  
  
May I ask what you do for a living?  
  
are we playing 20 questions now?  
  
Maybe.   
  
only if i get to ask some questions back

Fair enough.

You have a deal.   
  
glorified mechanic  
  
you?  
  
Unglorified tax accountant.  
  
sounds sexy  
  
you like it?   
  
Not even a little bit.  
  
Do you like what you do?   
  
Sometimes I wonder if the people who claim to love their jobs are lying.  
  
why don’t u quit?  
  
do something else  
  
ive done a fair few jobs i hate   
  
i dunno if i'd say i love this job but i think i lucked out   
  
cuz i like fixin things  
  
which is what i do now  
  
That sounds nice. However, I don’t really have any other marketable skills.  
  
what did u want to be  
  
growing up

Castiel has to think about that. It’s been a long time since he's had any dreams. Or ambitions. Anything fanciful, that is. He tries to be practical and realistic. There’s no point going after something impossible, after all. Now that he’s been asked, he finds it hard to think back to a time when he didn’t feel this way. It was just the way things were growing up; the way he was raised to be.

Probably a scientist. Or an astronaut. I liked stars.  
  
course u did  
  
such a nerd  
  
I liked math, too. I was on the track team.  
  
so u were a cute little mathlete  
  
just like sammy 

It sets something fluttering in Castiel’s chest, and the warmth creeps up his neck. He firmly tells himself that he isn’t thrilled to find out he has something in common with Dean’s brother.

I wasn’t cute.   
  
ill be the judge of that 

Castiel blushes, self-conscious. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to be trading pictures with Dean. He thinks that he’d be okay with it under different circumstances, but now, even if he ignores his relationship with Daphne, he can’t do it. Besides, he knows he’s atrocious with a camera, so he clings to that excuse for now.

I’m not sending you a picture of myself.  
  
such a tease  
  
kids these days call it a ‘selfie’  
  
grandpa 

Rolling his eyes, Castiel pointedly doesn’t reply for a few minutes. Predictably, Dean comes back wheedling.

u know u don't have to right  
  
i was just messing with u  
  
dont sweat it ok ill stop being a creep  
  
You’re not a creep. I understand your curiosity about my appearance.   
  
i mean look it doesnt really matter  
  
and it makes you uncomfortable  
  
which is the last thing i wanna do honestly  
  
so im just gonna shut my mouth now

Castiel chews his lower lip. He taps out an apology and deletes it. He’s not sure what he’s trying to say, what he’s allowed to say. What wouldn’t be the wrong thing to say. This thing, whatever it is (or isn’t), is tenuous at best. A fragile line of communication born of chance, but Castiel clings to it because, for some reason, it makes him feel alive. Someone out there gets him. Understands him. And maybe it’s silly to think that way, but he needs it. The rest of his life is in limbo; on the cusp of a fork in the road that he can see ahead, but he’s not quite there yet.

I appreciate our talks.  
  
shucks cas  
  
ur not half boring yourself 

It makes Castiel smile anyway. Over the course of their conversations, Castiel has learned that this is Dean’s equivalent of a fervent declaration. It’s nice knowing that, and it makes warmth bloom in Castiel’s chest.

Maybe that’s why he sends the picture.

 

  
  
holy shit  
  
u were cute  
  
i totally called it i was right  
  
the hair  
  
there are just so many things  
  
too many things  
  
Now we’re even.  
  
this is  
  
this is a real gift cas  
  
wow  
  
how old were you  
  
Sixteen.  
  
priceless  
  
is that a ponytail  
  
No, it’s just slicked back. My sister assured me it was fashionable.   
  
makes sense  
  
well at least you’re pretty  
  
can’t have it all 

Castiel shakes his head in amusement before he remembers Dean can’t see him. He stops smiling.

I have to go.   
  
oh okay 

It’s a little abrupt, but it’s all too much again. Castiel can’t blame Dean for it. He needs to sort himself out. This has ventured past inappropriate and Castiel needs to reign himself in. Sure, it’s just a picture of him over a decade ago, but he wasn’t thinking.

sorry to nag, but ur sure everything's ok?   
  
u never really said anything was wrong  
  
i guess i just  
  
never mind.  
  
you know doors always open though right?  
  
call or text any time you need anything

It's sweet of Dean to worry.

Yes. I'm fine. I’ve got an early morning is all, unfortunately. And thank you for the offer. It's very kind of you. I hope you know that it goes both ways. I'm willing to lend a ear or offer support any time you need.  
  
yeah yeah get your beauty sleep 

Why is it so easy for Dean to make him relax and forget? Already, the tight, panicky grip in Castiel’s chest loosens. The teasing makes the corners of his lips tug up slowly. A large, irrational part of Castiel wants to know, without the ambiguity of texting, if Dean feels the same way. He can’t, though, because that’s how it ends. Instead, he ends up channeling the affection as gratitude.

Thank you, Dean.   
  
for what?   
  
Everything.  
  
save the hallmark for v-day ;)  
  
Maybe I will.  
  
weirdo  
  
night!   
  
Goodnight, Dean. 

As the days slip by, Castiel feels a distinct shift in the tone of Dean’s texts. There’s more pictures, for one. Dean constantly takes pictures of himself or the food he’s eating or anything he finds amusing. Or anything he thinks Castiel might find interesting.

The first picture is mostly washed out, but still recognizable as the man with the cowboy hat, only about a decade older. Dean sends it accompanied with the caption–

  
  
being driven to work by my dumbass brother bc my baby’s in the shop

When Castiel asks who ‘baby’ is, not without some apprehension, he gets a slew of picture in response. It’s a beautiful black boat of a car, and in one of the pictures, Dean is asleep behind the steering wheel. It makes Castiel smile.

  
  
What happened? Is the damage expensive?  
  
this bitch scratched her up to send crowley a message  
  
literally some latin shit all over the doors  
  
swear im gonna kill crowley AND her  
  
Nobody does that to baby n gets away with it  
  
turns out crowley’s skank thinks im still with him  
  
it's not too bad tho cuz im fixin it myself   
  
I don't know much about cars, but if there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.   
  
nah but that's nice of u  
  
im not by the way  
  
Not what?

Castiel asks the question with some trepidation. Dean’s humor is sometimes self-deprecating, but Castiel sees that it is a thin veneer for Dean’s insecurities. It’s in the way Dean talks about himself and even though they haven’t known each other long, Castiel is ready to defend Dean if he insists he’s not nice. Because Castiel knows people who aren’t nice. And Dean is nothing like them. Which is why Dean’s response comes as a surprise.

im not with crowley  
  
haven't been for a long time  
  
just in case u were wondering 

Oh. Castiel stares at his phone stupidly. He tells himself he doesn’t know why Dean is clarifying that particular notion. It’s not because Castiel has ever asked. Of course he’s wondered. That’s not the point.

In the end he doesn't really respond to that.

There is certainly a friendship here. Unexpected, but strong. They share a decent amount of interests– even if Dean likes to pretend that he’s too cool to share them, his knowledge of them betrays him. But most importantly, they connect in the spaces where they’re different, fitting like puzzle pieces. Where Castiel slips and struggles to talk about himself, Dean draws him out with easy conversation, and shared anecdotes about himself. Where Dean is self-deprecating and blasé, prone to joking at inappropriate moments, Castiel is able to sense the core of the issue to provide a reassurance that actually seems to get through to Dean.

It’s more than that, though. Yes, the flirting is insincere and jocular, but moments like these make Castiel think that there’s more to things than he forces himself to believe.

There’s a moment when Castiel resolve crumbles. Dean sends him a picture late on Christmas Eve.

Castiel stares at it for too long.

Dean is gorgeous. Of course he is, Castiel snaps at himself. He’s certainly older than he was in the first picture, but he’s aged like fine wine. The smile on Dean’s face is gentle and welcoming. It goes all the way up to his eyes. It’s a pity the picture is in black and white. Castiel wants to kiss the crows feet and feel the prickle of the stubble sanding Dean’s jaw against his lips. Dean looks good. He looks… happy. Relaxed. Looking at the picture Castiel aches to be with him.

hey so since its christmas im gonna just ask  
  
like we're in a dumb chick flick  
  
and there’s no elegant way to do this  
  
and i mean ive never done this before  
  
well ive done similar things but anyway  
i like you cas  
  
a lot  
  
you wanna grab a drink sometime? 

Castiel’s heart skips a beat, then hammers furiously. He swallows, but his mouth is dry all of a sudden. Dean feels the same way. But his happiness is short lived. He breathes out shakily. He’s pictured this moment so many times, and he’s still unprepared for it.

Somehow he’d imagined that he’d do the asking. That he’d have worked up the nerve to break up with Daphne by now. That he’d have the balls to ask Dean out. Dean likes cheeseburgers, so Castiel would take him to the Roadhouse. They’d talk like old friends, kiss like new lovers, it’d be good. It could be so good.

But Castiel is a coward.

I’m sorry, Dean  
  
I don’t think that’s a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Lesson learned. Never try to post a new chapter for a fic with this much formatting from your phone. No matter how much of a hurry you're in to post. Thanks, you guys, for muscling through despite the crap formatting. I thought I could handle posting this after a flight + batch cooking for the week. *shakes fist @ AO3* I realized the accidental post last night, but I thought I deleted it before the damage could be done. I didn't want to lose all your lovely comments, though so... ahh. Anyway. It's fixed. Pictures coming soon. Thanks again. So much ❤️


	4. Chapter 4

“Well, I can’t say this is unexpected,” Daphne sighs.

Castiel looks up in surprise.

It had hurt to turn Dean down, especially since he knew Dean probably took it hard. Dean felt things so keenly, held it close to his chest, and almost never let on just how much he was affected. Not at first. In fact, Castiel was fairly sure he only knew that about Dean because texting provided enough of a buffer for Dean to be a little vulnerable. That, and Castiel was a stranger. He didn’t judge Dean.

Dean had laughed off the rejection with a sad attempt at brevity–

hey it could be worse! what if you liked me back but lived in tibet?

But the texts had come to a standstill after that. Belatedly Castiel realized, he could’ve worded it better. He never explained himself.

Although, he wasn’t sure how he could’ve explained not wanting to start something with Dean when he was still in a relationship. He never told Dean that he felt the same way, too. The truth is simple. He likes Dean, too. A lot. And maybe when they meet, they’ll feel differently. Maybe they’ll just stay friends. One thing is clear, though. He doesn’t feel a fraction of the same way for Daphne. It’s gone past the point of complacency or comfort. It’s not fair to her. It’s time to fix things.

So, Castiel waits for a Saturday morning. He tells Daphne they need to talk. He braces himself for tears and anger, but Daphne just looks resigned. She’s never been much for excitement anyway. When they fought infrequently, she was always the first to suggest a practical compromise and move on.

“It’s not?” Castiel asks, cautious.

Daphne shrugs. “We were barely a couple. In fact, we were better roommates. I was happy, but I could see you weren’t. I thought you were bored but I didn’t know how to fix it. I saw the signs, and I kept trying to stall. I knew you wanted to leave, and I thought if I just kept you from saying it out loud that you’d change your mind. And then something changed. The last couple months you’ve been… restless.”

Castiel owes her the truth. “There’s someone else.”

“Oh.” The way Daphne says it is hollow. Empty.

“It’s complicated,” Castiel explains hastily, clumsily. He cringes. “Actually, it’s not. It’s not really… it isn’t a real thing. I haven’t even met him. We talk sometimes. I know what he looks like. But it’s not him–”

“Your phone. That’s who– It's him. You've been talking to him.”

Castiel looks away. “It’s not just because of him. I’ve been thinking about this for some time now, and I realize it was selfish and cowardly of me to have waited.”

Daphne nods, and she looks a little sad. “We had a good run,” she says quietly. When Castiel doesn’t reply immediately she asks, “Didn’t we?”

“Yes. We did. Daphne–”

“No, it’s okay,” she interrupts, smiling. It looks a little forced. “I know what you’re going to say and it’s not like you to say that sort of thing. So don’t. I always liked that about you, you know? You’re a good man. Honest.”

Castiel presses his lips together. He hasn’t felt like a good person for a while now. He certainly hasn’t been honest. “I’m sorry, Daphne. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Me too,” she whispers, and there’s the briefest glimmer of tears in her eyes.

She pulls him in for a hug, and Castiel holds her until she pulls away. He’ll miss her, he realizes. Her friendship, and her warmth. They spent five years of their lives together. She must’ve had hopes and dreams. She must’ve made plans, and yet. Castiel knows that he’d abandoned them for a long time now.

The cut is clean, the bloodshed minimal. Getting to this point was difficult, but now that they’re here, it’s easy. It makes sense. Her eyes are dry when she looks at Castiel, and he knows that it’s goodbye.

“I’ll move out, if that will make it easier,” he says. He doesn’t mind the trouble. He could move in with Gabriel until he finds his own place.

“No, you stay. I never really liked this place,” she smiles. “Exit stage Daphne.”

  


“What the hell, Cas?”

Castiel looks away uncomfortably. They’re in the cafeteria, and people around them turn to stare. Charlie doesn’t appear to notice or care. She’s holding her hair in her hands, looking at him in shock.

“You met her,” he mumbles, chasing a spinach leaf with his fork. “At the Christmas party.”

“I thought she was your roommate! Or a friend or something!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel says, spearing the salad bowl with a decisive stab. “We’re not together anymore. We were never in love. I was with her because it was the easy thing to do and now–”

He falls silent, overcome with frustration. He’s lost Dean. Breaking up with Daphne was difficult, and it was the right thing to do, but losing Dean has been harder on him. He’d sent too many texts that went unanswered. He stopped trying after two days, because if Dean didn’t answer then, what were the odds that he ever would again?

It’s been a few weeks since they spoke, and Castiel can’t stop feeling badly about the whole thing. At first, Castiel had been tentative–

Dean, can we please talk? I have much to tell you.

But with each inquiring text that went unanswered, he grew more anxious. He’d confessed everything to Dean, in increasingly long texts, until the frustration of the silence pushed him to make a call. And that’s when he realized the delicate boundaries in place, though they may have been unintentional. Through some unspoken mutual agreement they’d never called each other.

He didn't even know Dean's last name. His actual age. Although he briefly considered it, Castiel didn't use the number to dig up more information on Dean, and he gets the sense that Dean likely never did that either. If Dean wanted to be found, he would've made it clear. It wasn't like Dean to play games, and it wasn't for Castiel to violate Dean's privacy just to find out. 

“Cas, are you okay?”

Castiel exhales sharply. Charlie looks worried. She puts a hand on his shoulder. He forces himself to nod. “I made a mistake.”

Charlie rubs his arm, the picture of sympathy. “Have you tried talking to her? She might give you a second chance.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s someone else. I lost my chance with him.”

“ _Him_? You’re not straight?”

The look Castiel gives her is enough.

“I had to double-check! My gaydar is never wrong but there’s a first time for everything.” She goes from defensive to curious in a heartbeat after that. “Tell me everything. Now.”

Castiel doesn’t even try to resist. He feels so heartsick that he’s honestly more dejected than embarrassed. He ends up narrating the whole sordid story to her. Even if things never went anywhere romantic with Dean, Castiel had banked on their friendship. They had had a good friendship, and Castiel had hoped it would continue. By the time he finishes telling her about Dean, Charlie’s sitting there with her head in her hands again.

She’s always been invested in his love life, from trying to set him up with someone last Christmas to encouraging him to respond to Dean’s accidental text. And he appreciates that she’s commiserating with him, but this feels a little excessive.

“... Charlie?”

“Ugh. This is why I hate meddling,” Charlie groans. “I never meddled. My entire life, not a single meddle. And the first time I try it, I fuck it up so bad…”

Castiel isn’t sure how this relates to his situation, but he decides he ought to be supportive anyway. She’s always been supportive and generous to him. Maybe this reminds her of something that went wrong for her.

“I’m sure you can fix it,” he says earnestly. “You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

Charlie’s smile is wry, but it transforms into something manic and excited. “You’re right, Cas. And you know what? As thanks for being such an awesome genius and an amazing friend, I’m gonna do you a solid. I’m gonna set you up. You’re going on a blind date.”

This is what he’d been afraid of. “That’s not necessary. I don’t really–”

“No, shut up and listen to me. You’re going on this date. I’m not taking no for an answer. It’ll be a distraction from all this moping. Trust me when I say you need this.”

Castiel sighs. He’s not really interested in going on a date with a stranger. He wants to meet Dean, but he can't do anything about that.

“Or at least– just do this as a favor. For me, please,” Charlie pleads, looking so desperate that Castiel wavers. “If it sucks, I promise you can leave. I’ll send you a safety text and call with an excuse to give you an out and everything. Please, please, please–”

Maybe this date, even if it is unpleasant, will put the impossible out of his mind. Charlie is more well-versed in moving on than him.

“Alright. I’ll do it.”

Castiel doesn’t want to do it, but he feels that Charlie really is trying to help him. It was, after all, in an odd way, because of her that he ever spoke to Dean. Charlie punches the air in joy. “Awesome! I’m... pretty sure this is gonna work.”

Castiel isn’t, but he smiles for her benefit.

  


It’s the evening of his date when Castiel finds the copy of _Musicophilia_.

He spent most of the time after work this past week helping Daphne move out. When her things were gone, he had to fill in the bald patches, and one of his living room projects was to put up a book case where the TV used to be. Or maybe he should get a TV after all. He never really cared for it, but Dean had put him onto some interesting movies and shows. He wouldn’t mind exploring Netflix by himself a little longer. After all, he had little else to occupy his time outside of work anymore.

He spends the hours until Saturday evening looking over the old text threads until he can’t look at it anymore. It feels so unfair.

Dean isn’t coming back.

He needs to accept it. He needs to move on. Castiel forces himself to get dressed and focus on this evening. If nothing else, it’s an opportunity, and he should treat it as such. In true fashion, Castiel is nervous and early for his date, and considers calling Charlie to cancel. He really doesn’t want to do this.

He steps into a bookstore to make the call, and ends up getting her voicemail. It’s probably by design. He wouldn’t put it past Charlie to realize that he’d try to chicken out in the last minute. He’s got about fifteen minutes until the reservation, so he browses. The restaurant Charlie picked is across the street. Time slows to a crawl as he finds the book.

He spends a few minutes staring unseeingly at the cover and helplessly thinks of Dean. He buys it. It’s a sign, he thinks, uncharacteristically superstitious. He needs to try again with Dean. He will try again.

And then all too suddenly he's got two minutes to not show up late, and he has to rush across the street to make it in time. First, he has to explain things to his date, and hope the person will forgive him; they don’t deserve to be stood up. Then he’s going to go home and talk to Dean. One way or another, he’s finishing this. He needs the closure. The maitre'd guides him to the table and when Castiel sees the man already seated at the table, his heart skips a beat.

It’s Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to our regularly scheduled programming! Sorry about the break; RL stuff, you know how it is. Shouldn't be long until we reach the end.


	5. Chapter 5

For a moment, Castiel stays frozen. He doesn’t know how to process this. It’s too strange, too unnatural for it to be coincidence. And yet, he can’t think about that. He can’t wonder how this is possible.

The pictures don’t do Dean justice. Even now, his handsome face pinched with irritation as he thumbs through his phone, he’s gorgeous. He looks up, and Castiel freezes in place. There’s surprise, and then a flicker of… recognition? but it quickly turns to embarrassment. And then Dean’s expression shutters. He takes in the tan trench coat Castiel told Charlie he would wear, and puts his phone away.

“You must be Charlie’s friend,” he says.

Castiel nods, not trusting himself. Even the rich timbre of Dean’s voice, deeper than Castiel was expecting it to be, is inexorably attractive.

“I’m Dean.” He starts to stand and Castile hurried forward to shake his hand.

And immediately curses himself for it. God, that was stupid. This isn’t a business meeting. Dean takes it in his stride, though. He blinks a few times, but takes Castiel’s hand and shakes it once, firm and decisive.

Castiel doesn't want to let go but he forces himself to. He lowers himself into his seat as the realization sinks in slowly.

Dean is real. He's real and he's actually here, and they're talking. In person.

Castiel struggles to believe this. How is this possible? It’s too much of a coincidence. Maybe Charlie hacked his phone and found Dean somehow, but Dean seemed to know Charlie too. Castiel’s mind races, but there are too many unknowns, and he needs to be present.

“You got a name?” Dean asks, a little impatient, but mostly wry.

Castiel panics. “Jame— well, Jimmy. James. But you can call me Jimmy. Everyone does.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, but if he smells the bullshit, he doesn't call it. He just picks up the menu and peruses it with a frown. Castiel follows suit, trying not to surreptitiously spy on Dean from behind his menu. The silence stretches, then grows awkward.

“Have you been here before?” Castiel asks, for something to say.

“No. Have you?” Dean flips the menu shut with a dissatisfied sigh. He scrubs his face with his hands and Castiel tries not to stare. “What the fuck is a deconstructed risotto? I just want a damn burger.”

Castiel knows that. He knows exactly what Dean likes. That Dean’s desires in life are simple. A good burger and homemade pie. Cheap beer and good company. A clean kitchen and a memory foam mattress. He loves his brother, adores his sister-in-law, dotes on his nephew, and is vulnerable with and kind to even estranged lovers like Crowley. He worries about everyone, even strangers he accidentally and occasionally texts.

On paper, Dean is amazing. In person, Dean clearly doesn't want to be here. It hurts a little, but that's fine. Sometimes, things just aren't quite the way they seem.

“I haven't,” Castiel says, feeling dejected. “We could just leave, if you prefer. I’ll take the fall for it and make sure Charlie doesn't hassle you.”

That gets a reaction out of Dean. He actually looks a little guilty.

“Look, Jimmy, I got nothing against you, okay? It’s just too soon. I tried to tell Charlie, and she wasn't having it.” He scrubs his face with both hands and sighs. “... And I feel bad now. You seem like a really nice guy, and you’re pretty smokin’– no two ways about that.” He cringes and shakes his head. “You don't deserve this. I'm being an asshole.”

It takes him a few more seconds, but Dean manages a smile. “Give me another shot? Let’s eat. It’ll be nice.”

Castiel hesitates, but his curiosity gets the better of him. “Okay.”

The waiter chooses that moment to interrupt them, and after they settle on drinks, Dean valiantly attempts to order a burger. When that fails he goes for ‘whatever the hell you call a steak around here,’ and Castiel gets the special, which promises to be one of the chef’s more adventurous takes on salmon.

“Remind me to kill Charlie for picking this restaurant,” Dean jokes when they’re left alone.

Castiel tries to smile. “May I ask you a personal question, Dean?”

“Kinda the point, right?”

“When you said it was too soon, were you alluding to a break up?”

Dean sighs and hangs his head. “This is like, top ten worst first date conversations, but… you know what? Yeah. And no. I mean, it's stupid. Which is probably why Charlie tried to get me out here. I was— I didn't even know what the guy looks like. It was just texts, but there was something there, man. Or I thought there was. And I jumped the gun and screwed it up.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “Which, you should know is a theme, by the way. With me. Screwing things up Anyway, he said he needed time and… I took it badly. I went out, got drunk. Lost my phone. And it's been a while, and I haven't heard from him. I thought we'd at least be friends, you know?”

It’s strange, hearing about this from Dean’s perspective. Dean was always affable and easygoing over text. Despite that, Castiel knew that Dean felt things keenly. He was so vibrant and so passionate, even if he hid it well beneath an armor of machismo. But it was one thing to know that about Dean, and another to hear it from Dean, about himself. Dean liked him. Dean struggled to get over him. Dean missed him.

“Why don't you just text him?” Castiel asks, trying to maintain composure.

Dean chuckles again. “I would, but I don't understand the damn cloud or whatever. Apparently it's not automatic? Charlie tells me now, when it's useless, that I gotta set it up once. So when I lost the phone, I lost everything. Lost his number.”

Castiel stares. As if to prove himself, Dean pulls his phone back out and starts thumbing through it.

“I’m trying to set it up again, and the stupid thing is just–”

“It’s me,” Castiel says.

“What?”

Dean looks confused, and it’s enough to make Castiel falter. What if he’s wrong? The evidence is overwhelming, but it could be that his perspective is flawed.

“I’m Castiel.” He closes his eyes, bracing himself.

Nothing happens. When he opens his eyes, Dean seems frozen. He hasn’t really reacted.

Nervously, Castiel elaborates, “The man on the phone. The one you’ve been talking to. It’s me.”

Silence. For nearly a minute. The bustle of the restaurant continues around them, and Castiel forces him to dwell in the silence instead of taking refuge.

“You’re Cas.” Dean sounds – well, not disbelieving. Not entirely.

The nerves make Castiel’s stomach tie up in knots. Their waiter chooses that moment to bring them dinner, and Castiel busies himself, feeling guilty and grateful.

“You’re Cas,” Dean repeats, more firmly.

Castiel looks up, emboldened by the certainty in Dean’s voice. Then Dean starts to laugh bitterly, and Castiel is on uneven footing again. He doesn’t know how to feel and he’s not even a little bit hungry, so he waits for Dean to elaborate.

“It makes so much sense, now.” Dean covers his face with his hands. He’s not eating either, and his mood is so hard to read.

Castiel can’t tell if Dean is taking the news well or not. It’s disconcerting. There was so much he thought he knew about Dean, and he does, but there is so much that is new to him as well. This is nothing like swapping texts. It’s so much more, and at the same time, it’s a lot less.

Dean appears to take pity on him. “I should probably start at the beginning. Charlie invited me to the office Christmas party last year and I saw you. I had– well, still do. Have this massive, um, crush. On you.”

He grimaces. “I can’t believe I called it a _crush_.”

Castiel stares. “Oh.”

The pieces don't quite fall in place, but they sort of gather in the vicinity of each other. That’s who she’d wanted to introduce him to, all those months ago. Castiel can see how Charlie might’ve made the leap to try and set them up on this blind date, but the coincidence with the texts… the odds were next to impossible.

“She put your number in my phone,” Dean says, with a groan. He sounds annoyed, but he looks impressed. “She switched out Crowley’s number for yours so when I sent the text–”

It’s the only explanation. Charlie is the common link. Castiel thinks back to Charlie’s raving about meddling when he told her about Dean. He thinks back to her coercion to respond to Dean’s initial text, and consequent disappointment when Castiel didn’t seem to take the bait. She was behind the whole thing.

Castiel sits back, stunned. He’s not sure what to make of it. From the looks of it, Dean’s struggling with the same thing.

Dean rubs his forehead and sighs. “So, it’s been you all along. The guy I’m not over.”

He turns pink as soon as he admits it aloud. God, he’s beautiful. Despite the situation, Castiel feels… pleased. There’s this warm, almost fuzzy feeling in his chest. He’ll deal with Charlie later.

“I mean,” Dean looks down, fidgeting with the napkin in his lap. “This is all probably super awkward. You don’t want to be here–”

“I do,” Castiel says hastily. “I want to be here. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to meet you for a drink. I wanted to ask you out myself. Believe me, please.”

Before he can second guess the move, he reaches out and takes Dean’s hand.

Dean doesn’t pull away, but he stiffens. “Well, what the hell happened, man? Where’d you go?”

Castiel takes a breath, and starts to explain.

  


 

Castiel stares at his computer for a good ten minutes before he realizes he’s reread the same email four times.

He can’t stop smiling.

Last night had been perfect.

Well, not right from the start. There was a good fifteen minutes when Castiel hadn’t been sure he’d make it to the main course, but after he’d explained…

Dean was breathtaking.

Castiel bites his lip when he hears footsteps. _Stop smiling_.

He can’t. He physically can’t.

Because he keeps thinking back to the way Dean had relaxed once everything was out in the open. It was like nothing had changed, and at the same time, everything was completely different.

It was validation in the best way. Dean was the man Castiel had texted for little over a month. And in so many ways, Dean was so much more than that. The texts didn’t convey the rich timbre of Dean’s voice. And although Castiel had seen the laugh lines in the selfies Dean sent, he never saw the play of them dusted with freckles, deepening and nearly disappearing as Dean blushed and laughed. And pictures were never accompanied by the feedback loop of Dean saying, “Cas!”

Dean was so beautiful. So wonderful.

And Castiel still feels giddy with happiness when he thinks of the kiss.

Stupidly, he touches his lips, trying to remember the silken tingle of feeling Dean’s lips on his.

God, what an amazing night.

Dean was such a wonderful kisser.

His mouth was soft and warm, and he tasted of the honey lavender ice cream they shared for dessert. He smiled into the kiss, so Castiel’s memory of it is a thrill despite the fact that he’d missed the cue when Dean had leaned in to kiss him goodnight.

Castiel starts when his phone vibrates against his thigh, and he comes back to himself. 

 

Dean  
  
we still on for lunch? 

Castiel grins and taps back a response in the affirmative. Dean replies instantly.

 

great :) see u in 10 mins 

That pulls Castiel up short. It’s already time for lunch? The clock tells him it’s 11:45, and Castiel realizes with a numb sort of horror that he’s been at work for four hours and only responded to one email. His inbox is flooded with new messages waiting for a response… and he’s going to take lunch.

He groans and puts his head in his hands.

“Come on! Last night couldn't have been that bad!”

Castiel’s head snaps up. He hadn’t heard Charlie walk over, or even open the door to his office. And his door has a purposely squeaky hinge. Even when he was completely engrossed in work, he kept a ear out for footsteps. A necessary skill when working for Zachariah, who liked to come up with cruel and unusual punishments for his unsuspecting underlings.

Charlie grins. “I keep telling you, man. I got ninja skills. I'm gonna pull off a heist one of these days.” She made a show of glancing around as though the walls had ears. “Or am I?”

“Charlie–”

“Uh uh, don’t even try to chase me out. I want deets.” Charlie collapses into the chair in front of his desk. “Dean won’t tell me anything. And you haven’t been responding to my emails. You’re killing me, man.”

Castiel hedges. He and Dean had decided to let Charlie stew in it a while for meddling. But… he and Dean had also decided that Castiel was a terrible liar. So Dean wouldn’t hold it against Castiel if Charlie prized the truth out of him in person.

It’s a nice memory. Dean kissing him against the side of his car, cupping his cheek gently, murmuring, “... I think you’re really fucking cute, so I’ll let it pass.”

Castiel feels weak-kneed. He wants to kiss Dean again.

“I…” he starts, dry-mouthed. “It was alright.”

Charlie narrows her eyes. “Liar.”

Castiel shrugs.

“You two– you figured it out.” Instead of guilty, Charlie seems smug. “You were trying to make me sweat for it. You two were in cahoots!”

Castiel stares at her in wordless exasperation as she starts to squint at him thoughtfully. “Charlie, I have a lot of work to get to–”

“Dean knows you’re a terrible liar!” Charlie says triumphantly. She pumps her fist in the air. “I knew it. I knew you’d be the weakest link.”

Castiel scowls. “That is not true. You didn’t know I had a girlfriend of three years that I was about to–” he peters off when he sees Dean outside the glass door to his office.

Dean smiles and waves, and Castiel’s heart lifts. He feels like the human equivalent of one of those floppy waving man balloons that are usually found outside car dealerships.

He doesn’t even care that Charlie sees his face, and lets out a low whistle. “Man, you have it _bad_.”

It’s at that moment that Dean spots Charlie. He rolls his eyes and steps inside.

“Get out of my office, Charlie,” Castiel says evenly, but the effect is ruined because he’s so thrilled to see Dean.

“Rude! So I guess you’re not getting lunch with me?” Charlie asks, looking between them.

“Nope.” Dean ruffles her hair. “Go on, you heard the guy. Get.”

“You two should be more grateful to your matchmaker, you know,” Charlie babbles, even as Dean steers her by her shoulders out the door. “I could’ve minded my own business. My meddling helps! Or worse, I could’ve set you up with different people, and then where would you be? Dean, you know you owe me–!”

Dean shuts the door behind her, his cheeks deliciously pink.

“Hey, Cas.”

His voice still sends a thrill down Castiel’s spine.

“Dean,” Castiel breathes. He doesn’t even care that Charlie is practically glued to the door, watching avidly.

“Kiss him, you idiot!” she calls, voice muffled by the glass.

Dean blushes harder and flips her the bird over his shoulder. Castiel can tell his own cheeks have grown warm.

“So, uh,” Dean says, shoving his hands in his pocket, and looking around. “This is where. You, uh…”

“Yes.” Castiel gestures lamely.

There isn’t much to see. His office is sparse. He doesn’t care much for hanging up accolades or personalizing with pictures. He likes to keep his personal life separate from work. The less Zachariah knew about him, the better. The only thing in here that really belongs to him are the electric tea kettle and the expansive collection of different teas. He likes to brew some when he’s stressed or strung out. It helps him focus and decompress. Dean turns his nose up at it, but Castiel already knew that. Dean prefers coffee. He calls tea ‘soggy leaf water.’

“I’ve never been up here,” Dean admits, running his fingers over the monitor. “It’s very… stuffy. And musty. The tenth floor is more space age, less old-dead-guy’s-office.”

Charlie groans in annoyance, and finally leaves them alone.

Castiel’s preoccupied by Dean’s fingers. And the new information he’s learned. “You work here?”

Dean grins at him. “Engineering. Well… R&D. Right next door to IT. Hence, you know. Charlie.”

Castiel is stumped. “How do I not know this?”

“‘Cuz you’re a nerdy little accountant who sits up here in his glass tower with his nose glued to his screen,” Dean teases, sitting on the edge of Castiel’s desk. “I mean, how else would I be at the Christmas party, dude? Remember? Where I first saw you, blah blah?”

It makes sense but Castiel isn’t entirely sure Dean wasn’t deliberately trying to keep that from him. He settles for raising an eyebrow. “Alright, let me log off and get my wallet.”

Dean waits for him to log off, but then he reaches out and tugs Castiel by his tie. It catches Castiel by surprise, but he goes along so he doesn’t choke. When Dean kisses him, Castiel melts into it.

Dean is an amazing kisser, but Castiel already knew that. Soft, and warm, equal parts give and take. He tastes of cinnamon and sugar. Castiel’s almost a little disappointed that the kiss stays pretty tame.

When they pull apart, Charlie whoops from outside his office, but strangely, Castiel doesn’t mind.

“Been wanting to do that again since last night,” Dean murmurs when they part, fingers still wound around Castiel’s tie.

Castiel takes a moment to gather himself. Happiness, that’s what that feeling is, buoying him along. “Me too,” he admits, feeling ridiculously shy.

Dean grins. “Lunch's on me.” He starts to rush Castiel out the door, and Castiel doesn’t quite manage to stifle a yelp when Dean slaps his ass. “Let’s go, hotstuff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I realize that I have a terrible posting schedule (but maybe I just want my subscribers to wake up to a nice email notif?) 
> 
> And: this fic has reached the zenith of its potential. Which is really not saying much lol 
> 
> P.S.: I'm not above begging for comments- please consider leaving some. I await them with much nailbiting anxiousness and am always thrilled by any feedback! Love y'all ♥


	6. Chapter 6

  
you up cas?   
  
You know I am. Please just come to bed, Dean. This is ridiculous.  
  
shut up and tell me what you’re wearing babe  


Castiel starts to type out,

 

If I shut up how am I supposed to   


But he gets interrupted by a text.

 

dont u dare   
  
u cheeseball   
  
u know what i mean   
  
so quit stallin n get to sextin   


Castiel rolls his eyes and sighs. He should never have told Dean about this. It was one thing to fantasize about a sexy– okay, fine. About _sexting_ when he hadn’t met Dean in person. It was a whole other can of worms to actually do it when he could hear Dean whistling in the kitchen as he cleaned up after dinner. When he would hear Dean laughing at his awkwardness.

In his fantasy, he was seductive and charming, and Dean responded effusively. In reality, Castiel had a tendency to wax purple instead of poetic, or at least Dean reacted as though he was constantly torn between embarrassed amusement and sometimes… affection.

(Which was the only reason Castiel forgave the merciless teasing. That, and he knew it wasn’t malicious. Dean’s laughter was a defense when he felt too vulnerable. Besides, Dean tended to make some convincing reparations with his mouth.)

There was also the fact that Castiel had never done this before. He knew he was going to be terrible about it. Dean had explained it to him, but it hadn’t been very helpful.

(“You just, you know, you go with the flow, babe,” he’d murmured into Castiel’s neck, while being very distracting with his hands. “Don’t worry so much about whether I find it sexy. Focus on what you want, what turns you on. It’s easy.”

“It’s not,” Castiel grumbled. “You groan every time I call it ‘making love.’”

Predictably Dean buried his face in Castiel’s chest, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter. “Cas, come on–”

“Case in point.” )

And yet. Here he is.

But, Castiel has to admit, this is part of what he loves about being with Dean. Every day is a thrill. Something different. Dean pushes him just past the point of comfort, and joins him there, and Castiel always come out of the experience having enjoyed himself in ways he hadn’t known possible.

Fine, whatever.

 

I’m wearing my favorite pajamas.   
  
oh yeah? which ones are those?   
  
The black one with the bees.   
  
just the shirt or pants too   
  
Shirt. Unbuttoned. No pants because I thought you were coming to bed.   
  
nice. what colors ur underwear?   


Castiel bites his lip, nervous. Dean has stopped whistling. In fact, all Castiel can hear is the gentle hum of the dishwasher if he strains.

 

Who says I’m wearing any?   
  
ha! ur a natural at this   
  
told u so   
  
but srsly i know u what color spill   


Castiel can’t help but smile at the teasing praise. Dean always knows just how to put him at ease. He leans back against the headboard, already feeling a little more comfortable.

 

Plaid.   
  
the red boxer briefs?   
  
Maybe.   
  
fuck. yes.   
  
Oh, you like those?   


Castiel already knows the answer to this one.

 

yeah ur ass looks fucking amazing in it   
  
then again ur ass looks amazing period   
  
runners ass   
  
and thighs   
  
and ass   
  
You’ll have to come here to see it.   
  
we talked about this cas   
  
what am i supposed to jerk off to if you dont send me a dick pic every now n then  
  
I thought we were talking about my ass.   
  
that too   


Castiel doesn’t bother protesting. He knows Dean’s just teasing. He hesitates when he hears the scrape of a chair, but then takes the leap.

 

Are you touching yourself right now?   


The response comes a little slower.

 

maybe   
  
are you>   
  
Don’t tease me.   


He hears Dean’s huff of laughter.

 

such a dom  
  
fine. yeah. ive got a hand down my sweats  
  
In your underwear?   
  
nope   
  
commando     


Castiel licks his lips, one hand straying to rest on his thigh. He wants to touch himself, but he’d rather work Dean into a mess first. That’d teach him to keep springing this sort of thing on Castiel.

Was it too much to ask for that they make love in his bed and cuddle after? No, instead, Dean had to go and waltz into his home and heart in tattered jeans and sweatpants and hoodies and old band t-shirts, bringing his stupid, beautiful face and kind heart and gentle hands and delicious chicken soup.

 

Stop. I want you to lick your palm and get yourself hard. Start at the base. Don’t touch the head of your penis yet.   


From outside, he hears the chair scrape against the floor again. Then, unmistakably, a moan.

Castiel pumps a triumphant fist in the air.

 

ur fuckin good at this babe  
  
r u sure u havent done this before  
  
Tell me when you’re hard.  
  
Dean.  
  
gimme a min ffs   
  
I want to blow you.   
  
Can you picture that for me?   
  
Pretend it’s my hand on you now and my mouth sucking on the head while you spill yourself  
  
jfc cas ur killng me   


Castiel shifts in bed, getting more comfortable as his half-hard cock twitches. He’s tempted to massage it into an erection, but he stops himself. He needs both hands at the wheel if he’s going to get Dean off first.

 

Tell me what you feel.  
  
im hard cas im so hard 4 u babe  
  
doin that thing u do w ur wrist  
  
doesnt feel like u   
  
need you  
  
You have me.   


“Dammit,” Dean curses, muffled through the door. “I’m coming.”

 

Castiel expects to hear the sharp exhales, the aborted whimper he’s grown so used to hearing, but instead, he hears footsteps. In the next instant, Dean’s pushing the bedroom door open. He’s pulled his shirt off, but his sweatpants are slung low on his hips, cock jutting obscenely above the waistband.

“Fine, alright, it’s stupid,” Dean babbles, stumbling out of his pants and crawling up the bed. “You were right. You happy now?”

Castiel spreads his legs and finds himself with a lapful of his naked boyfriend. “Yes.”

Dean scowls into the kiss. “No need to sound so smug.”

It melts into a slack-jawed sigh when Castiel wraps a hand around his cock and guides Dean closer with a hand at the small of his back.

“On the contrary…”

Dean shuts him up with another kiss.

Castiel jacks his cock lazily for a few moments, enjoying the heated, languid kiss.

“You said something about sucking my dick,” Dean reminds him, when they part breathlessly.

Castiel ducks his head to mouth at a nipple in lieu of answering. Dean whimpers brokenly, and presses up while a hand clasps around Castiel’s neck, holding him in place. Castiel teases the sensitive bud with his tongue and teeth for a few moments, enjoying the way Dean’s cock twitches against his thigh.

Then he pushes Dean onto his back. Castiel pulls his t-shirt off before following to settle on top of Dean. They mold together, Dean’s legs slipping open for him, Dean’s hands coming to rest on his ass, pulling him closer. Castiel cups Dean’s chin, pressing him back, and kisses him deeply, enjoying this play at control. Everywhere that their skin touches is warm and sensuous. Castiel feels at once alive and completely soothed.

“Jesus, fucking, give a guy–!” Dean pants, when a Castiel breaks from the kiss.

Castiel kisses Dean’s chin, and neck, and nips at the tattooed skin above his heart, and laves at Dean’s left nipple before trailing lower with heated kisses. It’s true, Castiel loves Dean for his kind heart, and sharp mind, and gentle soul, and every rough edge and vulnerability of his personality, but sometimes he looks down and realizes with a numb sort of stupidity that Dean’s body is beautiful. And he loves Dean’s body. A lot. It’s kind of wonderful to be in love like this.

The smooth planes of muscle, like the ones in Dean’s arms– yes. Castiel pushes Dean’s hands up above his head and kisses up the inside of Dean’s elbow, along the smooth underside of a bicep to his shoulder.

“Cas,” Dean says, strangled, so Castiel skirts back down to Dean’s chest.

He’d once strayed kisses and licks from Dean’s nipples, up his chest, to his armpit, and nearly gotten smacked in the face. Dean clearly liked it, if the way, he’d blushed and spluttered had been any indication, but he still seemed reluctant and self-conscious when it came to indulging that particular pleasure. As much as Castiel enjoys the thought of burying his face in the apex of Dean’s scent, it makes Dean uncomfortable in some way, so he resists.

“Dean.” Castiel pauses until Dean looks at him. He, however, can’t resist kissing Dean again, whose eyes are glazed, and cheeks are flushed, lips slick and swollen from attention.

“Yeah?” Dean runs his hands down Castiel’s back, and wraps a leg around Castiel’s hips. “How d’you want me?”

Castiel feels something primal in him rear its head. He doesn’t recognize the sound he makes. Whatever it does to the expression on his face must be good, because Dean’s cheeks get pinker and his lips fall open, and he wants it so badly– he wants Castiel back.

“On your back. Keep your arms above your head.” Castiel sits back as Dean moves to obey. He spends a moment contemplating the smooth expanse of golden, freckled skin beneath him, and then he flips around to bury his head between Dean’s legs.

Dean moans as Castiel sucks him into his mouth. His hips buck up, but Castiel clamps his arms around Dean’s thighs and holds him in place. He can feel Dean’s breath hitch under him when he suckles at the sensitive head for a few long minutes.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, rubbing circles along Castiel’s lower back as Castiel takes him deeper. “Cas, I’m so close babe–” he tapers off into a moan.

His hands grasp Castiel’s hips and tug him back, so Castiel has to flatten himself over Dean. And then Dean’s pulling his underwear down, and Castiel almost chokes on the cock in his mouth. He presses his lips to Dean’s inner thigh and tries to breathe, trembling as he feels the hot, wet heat of Dean’s lips and tongue murmuring along the erection hanging heavy between his legs. He makes an embarrassing noise when Dean’s tongue swipes under his balls, and then flickers over them.

Castiel pants at the onslaught of pleasure, nosing further between Dean’s legs. He licks a swathe along Dean’s perineum and Dean groans.

“You better fuck me if you’re gonna go there,” he says, sounding wrecked.

Castiel wants to go there. In the privacy of his own mind, he’s willing to admit that he probably has a problem. He could (and has) spent hours teasing and spreading Dean open. There’s so many things to love about pleasuring Dean, but Dean certainly doesn’t help matters by making the most addictive sounds. Castiel is rightly, justifiably, obsessed.

“Cas?” Dean nips at his inner thigh, sharp enough to sting, and soothes it with a wet kiss. “I’m fuckin’ serious, babe.”

Castiel grins, sitting up and shuffling forward. Beneath him Dean whines, this big, lazy, insolent heathen in his bed. Castiel turns to face Dean, then spreads his legs open to settle between them. He pushes Dean’s legs up to his chest, and bends to kiss him. Once, he’s comfortably positioned, he reaches for the lube.

“You should be careful what you wish for, Dean.”

 

 

The email sits in Castiel’s phone for a week, burning a hole through his pocket.

It’s a perfectly innocuous birthday e-vite. It also happens to be from Daphne.

It’s been six months since he last spoke to her, or saw her. Of course, he considers that Daphne simply forgot to remove him from her contacts, and sent the invite out to everyone. If that’s the case, it’s best to ignore it, consider it a mistake, and move on. Castiel is partial to this theory because Daphne was the kind of person to make things clear. If she intended to invite him to the birthday, he would’ve gotten a call or a text to eliminate any ambiguity.

“What’re you glaring at?” Dean demands, pushing his feet into Castiel’s lap.

It’s after dinner, and they’re settled on Castiel’s couch with the TV on in the background. Dean’s reading a comic book rather distractedly, and Castiel… well, he’s trying to ignore his phone.

He absently grabs Dean’s ankle, and when Dean tries to pull his leg back, he tightens his grip and rearranges them so they’re both comfortable. Then he pushes his thumb into the sole and starts rubbing. Dean rarely lets himself be pampered. It’s a little annoying.

When Castiel looks up, he sees that the impromptu foot rub has been cause for some embarrassment. Dean’s watching him, cheeks pink, lip caught under his teeth.

Castiel answers the question, if only so Dean won’t overthink a little massage. “Daphne sent me an invite to her birthday. I believe she’s throwing a party in her new home."

Dean frowns. “Weird. Didn’t it end kinda badly?”

“Yes.” Castiel sighs. “Better than I expected, but not… good."

For a few moments, they’re both silent. Dean wiggles his toes with a playful smile, and Castiel squeezes them.

“You still feel guilty about the whole thing,” Dean says. It’s not a question. His smile turns wry and knowing.

“Yes.” Castiel hesitates. “Dean, I cheated.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“I’m serious. I was with her when I started talking to you. When I started falling for you.” Castiel can’t quite look at him anymore. “I had every opportunity to tell you about her, and I didn’t. I lied by omission.”

There’s a few quiet moments where Dean just watches him, and Castiel takes his silence for agreement.

“You’re really torn up about this.” It’s not a question. Dean knows him well enough by now.

Castiel focuses on the massage because he doesn’t trust himself to speak. This is something he’s struggled with in the back of his mind since he ended things with Daphne. It’s come to the forefront ever since he saw the email. Most days he doesn’t really think about it, because, well. He’s happy. Content. And busy enough that he doesn’t spend too long brooding about it.

Dean tugs his feet out of Castiel’s grasp and shuffles to sit pressed against his side.

“Was not telling me about Daphne a little sketchy? Probably, yeah.” Dean shrugs, then lifts an arm to wrap around Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel puts up a token resistance, because he doesn’t deserve to be comforted, but eventually he melts into Dean’s warmth.

“But, Cas. I was some stranger out there that you knew nothing about. It’s understandable you didn’t wanna spill the beans to me right off the bat. And anyway, I kinda knew something was up.”

Castiel looks up, finally meeting Dean’s gaze. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Dean squeezes his shoulder, smiling a little. “You’d seen the picture, and you kept turning me down.” He chuckled. “Seriously, though. If anything, I’m guilty of continuing to flirt with you when you kept discouraging me. I figured you either thought I was a catfish or y’know, there was someone. Or something else.”

Castiel bites his lip, mulling it over. Dean’s assessment is far more charitable, and far less irrational than Castiel’s internal self-flagellation. Then again, Dean is biased.

“Stop overthinking it, Cas,” Dean says gently. “No harm, no foul. You came clean. Daphne and I both know the whole story. She’s forgiven you, and even though there’s nothing to forgive, if you need it from me, you have it.”

“I should’ve told her sooner,” Castiel protests.

“Maybe.”

Castiel stares at Dean. He’d expected Dean to disagree.

Dean shrugs a shoulder. “So you’re human. It took you a while to do the right thing. But hey, you got there before you caused any serious damage. Honestly, Cas, if this is really the worst thing you’ve done, it’s a far cry from horrible. You fucked up. Join the club. What matters is that you tried.”

It’s hard to argue with that. Castiel sighs. “You’re too forgiving.”

Dean chuckles. “I’m really not.” He kisses Castiel’s temple. “You good?”

“I think so.” Castiel considers it for a few more moments, and nods. “Yes. I think I am.”

“Awesome. So. What’re you gonna do about this party?”

Castiel thumbs open his email and stares at the invite. He can feel Dean’s lips against his hair, and he’s grateful for it. Though Dean likes to pretend he’s terrible at feelings and talking about them, his insight, when he deigns to offer it, is thoughtful and considerate. And even when he truly doesn’t feel like talking, he’s compassionate, and supportive.

It’s an easy decision. Castiel deletes the email.

“Nothing.”

Dean’s smile is playful, bemused. “Yeah?”

“Yes. You’re right.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”  
  
Castiel rolls his eyes. “There’s no point agonizing over it, and certainly no point in rehashing the past. I should live in the present since I’m lucky enough to share it with you.”

“You’re such a dork.” Dean groans in put upon embarrassment and buries his face in Castiel’s neck, and Castiel finally relaxes. He smiles and winds an arm around Dean’s middle, pulling him closer.

“You love me.”

Castiel gazes at Dean for a long moment. He’s happier than he’s ever been in his life.

Dean feigns exasperation, but he can’t mask the affection that colors his voice. “Yeah. I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it to the end, folks! Had to write that little smut scene. I painted myself into a corner with that sexting tag. As someone who has never sexted before, it was kinda nerve-wracking. If you've sexted before, or have some idea of how it's supposed to go, let me know how I did? 
> 
> Anyway! Thanks for reading along. Writing this has been such a fun ride, and please accept my undying love for comments <3


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